


we never burned right.

by damienkarras



Category: Fahrenheit 451 (1966), Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beatty Lives, Beatty doesn't die, Books, Burning, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Crushes, F/M, Fire, I Love Beatty, Little Crushes, M/M, Montag is Anxious, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-08 07:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21232322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damienkarras/pseuds/damienkarras
Summary: a distraught montag and a burnt beatty join forces for good.or,beatty comes back ten times stronger.





	we never burned right.

The machine, with its sleek snake-like tubes and rhythmic pounding, was powering down for the night when Montag unceremoniously unlocked the hospital’s window and straddled the pane, doing his best to hide his rubber boot’s squeaking. His left leg took the form of a cane he had found in the fire station. He took the toothpick that was firm between his teeth and spat it out onto the dirty linoleum floors, fidgeting with his fireman’s lighter. He counted the doors down the hallway until he saw the numbers 251-- this was Beatty’s room. Montag knew he was either dead or close to, as he was the one who put him here.

“Beatty,” he whispered, opening the door. Much to Montag’s relief, a cough welcomed him.

“It’s you,” Beatty responded, his voice much hoarser than it was before. “You’ve come to ridicule me, then? To finish the job?”

Montag blinked in surprise. “No. No, that’s not at all what I wanted to do— you’re not dead.”

“Of _course _I’m not dead, Montag.” He sat up the best he could, eyes glossed over. That’s when Montag first saw his face.

Half of it was burnt, not beyond recognition but so badly that his heart sank. His hand reached to touch Beatty’s face, but kept itself a distance away.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“No worries,” Beatty grunted, leaning on his arms. “You did muster up the courage to come here and apologize, didn’t you?”

There was a bit of silence before Beatty laughed. It caught Montag by surprise-- he’d never seen Beatty laugh in a situation like this, much less _laugh_ at all.

“It’s a pleasure to see you,” he added, and Montag knew he was struggling to even talk.

“Why?”

Beatty sighed. “You didn’t mean to kill me, didn’t you? Spur of the moment.”

The unspoken words crossed both of their minds-- _he wanted to die_. He wanted to die, Montag thought.

“Of course. Well I, uh, came over here to get you out.”

“Am I wanted too?” Beatty joked, his side smile pulling at Montag’s heart.

“No. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” He raised his eyebrows. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

“I do.”

He frowned. Montag took his fireman’s helmet, placing it over his heart.

“Mrs. Montag,” Beatty started.

“She’s gone. You saw.”

In the silence, Montag held the helmet tight. He didn’t want to leave Beatty alone, but was he going to come with him?

“I’ll go with your plan,” Beatty muttered. “Montag, I’ve trusted you ever since you joined us firemen, and if my experience with you can say anything, I believe you’ll get both of us through this.”

Somberly nodding, with the fleeing of Mildred still on his mind, he reached out his hand.

“My house, first.”

“Your house?”

He nodded, gingerly grasping Montag’s hand and pulling himself up.

“Here we go to keep the world happy, Montag.”

On the streets was the real danger, where the Mechanical Hound prowled its way through the city. Although Montag believed he burnt the Hound, he knew that if Beatty survived the Hound may as well come back ten times stronger. Beatty was slow, limping on one leg as he hobbled after Montag, who barely felt the pain in his leg anymore, although he could see Beatty eyeing the stump.

"It's just up here," he reassured Montag after he whipped around to make sure Beatty was okay.

The house was two stories, and Montag reveled in how giant it looked, compared to his house, as Beatty unlocked the door.

The inside was just like Montag's house, although it was much more cramped, a stark difference to Beatty's organized attack on work. He waved to Montag to wait at the door as he grabbed his pipe, which was sitting on the counter, and hurried as best as he could up the stairs.

Once Beatty was out of sight, Montag glanced at the counter, cluttered with book pages and coffee stains. Montag thought nothing of it until he saw Beatty's fireman coat.

"Book pages," Montag whispered. "Books." The counter held pages of Hamlet, The Bible-- Montag traced the words, breathless. Beatty himself, harboring books? 

"Montag."

"Out on the counter," he said, not daring to look up at Beatty. "Not even hidden."

"Nobody comes to visit old Captain Beatty anymore." Montag finally looked up.

Beatty carried an old briefcase, and in an instant he knew it carried books. Beatty flushed before he regained his composure.

"You thought you were the only fireman to read, Montag? Almost every man got their hands on a book at some point. Always returned them, gave them to me. Read a few, got interested. Curiosity always gets the best of you."

Without asking, Montag took the case from Beatty. "We should be going?"

Beatty smiled again, the same half smile Montag knew well from late night card games and the sideways glances after a job, Beatty puffing on that pipe and Montag hoping that smile was a secret shared by them, and it seems it was.

The night sky was a pitch black, and Montag and Beatty shut off the lights and started to walk down the sidewalk as the small Seashell blurted out his name, listing his crimes like a melody, and all seemed well on that night, a wanted man and his captain walking down the sidewalk, watching the flame of a lighter die down and resurrect. 


End file.
